The accidental gardener...

The sere summer breezes bring stirring of the air but no relief from the heat. Rain has been an infrequent visitor and the ground is baked hard. The only pleasurable outdoor time is early morning and late evening. This morning I woke early to a quiet house and went to the front steps to sit a spell. Wiley, my faithful grey cat, came and sat by me, purring as I scratched his ears. We sat and watched the rabbits play at the edge of the front yard. One rabbit would jump straight up in the air coming down where he started while the other rabbit ran towards him, a game of some sort. Birds flew by, crows cawed and the rooster crowed. The stillness of the air and the quiet broken only by bird and cricket song were my morning prayer.
As I sat, I surveyed the flower border that edges our front walk. Colors run riotously without any apparent rhyme or reason… pink (phlox, Echinacea, achillea), yellow (black eyed Susans, yarrow, early blooming mums, daylillies), orange reds (roses, painted daisies). The kale’s leaves are pale purple and past ready for picking. The garlic’s blooms have faded and fallen over. It is a late summer Technicolor show that defies the hot dry weather. Mixed in with the flowers are weeds that I have not pulled adding to the greenery.
I am an accidental gardener. Unlike my mother who tends her flowers, weeding and mulching and fertilizing, I plant and forget. Sometimes I remember to water or fertilize but more often than not plants are on their own with me. This leads to casualties (you can kill a nandina) and surprises (if kale is left to bloom and re-seed, it pops up in wonderful places). Tall hollies and crepe myrtle can be transplanted if you use a tractor to move them. Earthworms love newspaper layered under mulch. My gardening skills are improvisational and experimental. If it works and looks good, keep it. If it doesn’t bloom or smell good, don’t plant it. Feel free to move plants around and create new vistas. Share your extras.
I sat at the supper table last week surveying the garden of our children, their spouses and our grandchildren. A torrent of sound… laughter, questions, stories, little hissy fits… and a river of love’s history… my mother holding her two youngest great-grandchildren… good food from grandma… deviled eggs, fried squash, mashed potatoes… meals prepared by grown children who love to cook… Moravian chicken pie, orzo with fruit and veggies, pork tenderloin with pineapple pepper sauce. My belly was full of thanksgiving for this wonderful accidental garden of family. Who knew we would have six grandsons each one so full of themselves? Children are married to spouses we love and they all seem to tolerate our quirks with good humor most of the time.
I take a road trip through time remembering the years of birthing and growing these grown up children. Church, piano lessons, dance recitals, soccer games, plays, sleepless nights, worry and wonder a part of my daily routine from the birth of our first child until today. I see the perfection in the imperfection of our lives together, the love that runs over and under the occasional snarkiness, the sheer joy of being as grandsons splash and play in the Leaning Tower of Pool and my heart overflows with tears for the wonderful garden of family and life I have been given. It is grace undeserved and I know it. Thanks be to God for accidental gardens of all kinds and for the gifts of love that bloom in our lives year after year, popping up in unexpected places and ways.